


A Cold Night in Fendel

by Windian



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Gen, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 16:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windian/pseuds/Windian
Summary: "The nights are cold lately. You might find it kinder to cuddle up with someone, eh?"The inn in Zavhert doesn't have enough beds. Much to Hubert's dismay, he's going to have to share. To his even deeper dismay: it's with Captain Malik and his brother.





	A Cold Night in Fendel

“What do you mean there’s only three beds left?”

Your hands firm on the counter, colour rises high to your cheeks.

“Sorry, sir. Everyone’s taking shelter from the storm… you could try the inn at the port if you wanted,” the innkeeper says.

“We just did,” says Hubert, “and they were all full as well.”

“Well,” the innkeeper gives a shrug, “some of you could share, I suppose. One of the beds _is_ a double.”

You consider this proposition. Cheria and Sophie sharing a bed would be acceptable, but it would be improper to ask Pascal to share her bed with any of the boys. Which meant you, Malik and Asbel would have to share.

You mutter under his breath. “I suppose there is little else we can do.”

An apologetic shrug from innkeeper. “Sorry. But the nights are cold lately. You might find it kinder to cuddle up with someone, eh?”

The colour rises higher. You curtly put the gald pieces into the innkeeper’s hands.

“I’d rather go cold,” you tell him, turning on your heel.

 

The Captain however, is having none of it, refusing point blank your proposition of bunking down on the floor.

“It might be a tight fit, but it's the best way to keep warm, Hubert,” Malik says, slapping a friendly hand on your back. “In my military days we'd have five men to a bunk, packed tightly as kippers. Body heat is cheaper than cryas, after all.”

Asbel isn't best pleased either, eyeing you anxiously when he thinks you're not looking. But he sways to the Captain's logic. “I guess it might be alright. I mean, we shared as a bed as kids some nights, Hubert...” he trails off, feeling the physical space of seven years as cleanly as you do. Nonetheless, he smiles uncertainly, you find yourself stuttering and colouring and saying that yes, you _suppose_ it will be alright. Malik claps you both on the shoulders, tells you both it's _settled_ , and to go put on your jimjams.

 

Which is how you've found yourself in this position. You certainly _feel_ like a sardine trapped in a tin, sandwiched between your brother on one side and Captain Malik on the other. You don't know how you've ended up as the Huberty-filling in this sandwich, except that to give the Captain his due, it _is_ warm. Although, that's likely due to the physical heat of embarrassment radiating off you.

“You wouldn't mind shifting over, Hubert? I'm nearly off the bed,” Malik says.

“I _can't_ ,” you huff. “There's no room.”

“If you turn on your side, there will be,” Malik says.

Muttering, you turn over, incredibly aware of the alarming amount of physical contact as you almost manage to elbow Malik in the face.

He shuffles in behind you, and to your utter dismay you find yourself face-to-face with Asbel. He looks as startled as you feel, which is _very_ startled, especially when Malik loops a loose arm around your waist.

Your voice is a fraction too high: “And you're sure this is how servicemen bunk in the Fendel military?”

“Oh, absolutely Hubert.”

“I'm not going to be able to sleep with your face right next to mine, brother,” you tell Asbel.

“What's wrong with my face?” Asbel asks, somehow managing to sound offended.

“That fact that I can smell the curry you had for dinner,” you tell him, which, finally, grudgingly, spurs him to turn over.

There's a deep, uncomfortable silence, in the middle of which you announce: “I don't know if I'll be able to sleep like this. Frankly.”

“It'll be more comfortable if you put your arm over Asbel's waist,” Malik says, his voice sounding warm and sleepy. It's a little unnerving, to hear that deep baritone so close to your ear.

“Put my arm over his _what_?”

“His waist, Hubert. There's nothing obscene about it.”

It's true that you're deeply uncomfortable, arm strapped to your side as though it's been splinted-- but this-- all of this actually-- feels deeply improper. Fendel really is a backwoods country, if what the Captain says is true and this really is the Fendel serviceman handbook.

“I don't mind, Hubert,” Asbel says. “Go ahead if it's more comfortable.”

“Relive your boyhood days,” Malik encourages you, punctuating it with a yawn.

But you tell them both, point blank: “I'm the fine the way I am. Thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” says Malik. “Let's get some rest, then. Who's looking forward to climbing Mt Zavhert again tomorrow, eh?”

Both you and Asbel groan.

The room falls quiet. The feeling of Malik's arm across you, seared like a brand, starts to fade. It's almost cosy. The sound of Malik's breath slows. It's so warm between them you kick your feet free of the covers.

Without your glasses, all you can see is the rise of Asbel's back. Your arm is steadily going numb. You bite down on your lower lip-- this is all military procedure, after all. Nothing weird. Nothing intimate. Pretty sure now that Asbel is sleeping too, you gingerly reach out to lay your hand on his side. When he doesn’t react, you grow a little braver, holding your breath as you curl your arm around him.

Malik's right: it is more comfortable. The Captain shifts in his sleep, tightening his grip around you. Your breath hitches: he's effectively cuddling you. You can feel the warmth of his chest and the soft exhale of his breath. Strangely, it feels as though the tension is leaking from you, receding to leave a warm pool in your chest.

Perhaps Asbel wasn't as soundly under as you thought, because he closes a hand around yours, half-asleep, murmuring, “That's OK, Hubert.”

To your own surprise: it is.

 


End file.
